British Model Edie Campbell’s Wild California Adventure

Meet model Edie Campbell, the doe-eyed Brit who has a knack for cracking jokes, scoring spots on the runway from Chanel to Burberry, and riding her horse Dolly competitively in her spare time. This year, the transfixing face took a vacation from her native England for a California road trip with her boyfriend, Otis Ferry. And what did she learn from this joyride? Coachella is very different from Glastonbury (less mud, more pecs), In-N-Out burger is great (stellar fuel), and thrifted Prada can exist at a pretty price, too (anything is possible!). Here, Campbell checks in with Vogue.com on living the real California dream.

Even though Coachella is the only festival that you can take an Uber to, the first part of our job as serious investigative journalists was to rent a mid-range American convertible. Obviously, I wanted to take the Chevy to the levee, but California is in a state of extreme drought so we all know how that story ends.

Then, there’s the fuel—food. It turns out that In-N-Out Burgers really are delicious. We ate them in our red convertible, listening to “Lucky Star” by Madonna, and I was feeling very smug about life, until Otis dribbled ketchup down my T-shirt. That shattered the illusion somewhat, and I realized that in fact I was eating fast food on the side of the highway in a stained tank top.

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Photo: Courtesy of Edie Campbell

Anyway, here are some Coachella observations: California is a notoriously body-conscious state. At English festivals the paler, more mottled, and more dimpled your skin, the better. This was clearly not going to cut it at Coachella. I agonized over whether to get a full-body spray tan, a blonde weave, and a surgically attached flower crown. I decided against all the above. But basically, I have never seen so many ripped men. They didn’t even dance, they just flexed their pecs. The scene was just sweaty six-packs in the sun, like greased-up show ponies.

For food, I was expecting it to be quite fancy—but sushi at a festival? Here were farm-to-table, plant-based, vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, pan-Asian, pan-American, seasonal, market-table, artisanal, classic-with-a-twist festival food stalls complete with experimental spelling. Also: cold-pressed mojitos. What is really annoying is that even once you’ve bought your cold-pressed kale mojito you can only drink it in designated areas. I mean, at a British festival you could walk around with a hamster on a string and I don’t think anyone would try to stop you. Also, Otis and I shared a memorable culinary experience in the town of La Quinta. Otis ordered something that resembled an exploded, semi-digested burger. And that’s really putting it politely. I ordered a salad, which mysteriously came with a side of cake.

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Photo: Courtesy of Edie Campbell

But back to Coachella: It’s is probably the most luxurious festival I’ve ever seen. There are air-conditioned bathrooms, and a laundry service on the campsite. I thought the whole point of going to festivals was to escape having to do your laundry, but maybe I’m mistaken. Also, it’s very clean. Unlike Glastonbury, there is no mud and the chance of developing trench foot is incredibly slim. No one wears hemp, no one takes mud baths, and no one pees where they sleep. The likelihood of someone throwing a cup of unidentified liquid at you is almost nil. It’s also really, really hot. Here I am, standing in front of a massive fan to cool my sweaty self down.

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Photo: Courtesy of Edie Campbell

After, Otis and I set sail back to the city. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I love driving in America, because you can see the sky in 360 degrees. I felt like going on the run with cash for gas and a cooler full of Bloody Mary mix. I did make Otis stop at a weird and massive outlet mall en route. Here, in the middle of the desert, tour buses were offloading hundreds of international tourists armed with tape measures and interpreters for efficient and thorough shopping, to the tune of piped country music. Here I am, enjoying said country music and an iced coffee, feeling triumphant after having just found a Prada skirt for $70.

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Photo: Courtesy of Edie Campbell

However, this jubilation didn’t last long. Driving in Los Angeles is all fun and games until you get to a busy junction and you have to try to turn left, but there’s a stream of SUVs coming straight at you really fast. You think that maybe you might die here, on the junction of Melrose and whatever, but you have to hold your nerve and sit in the middle of the crossroads, all vulnerable in your little open-top car, like a slug on the hot tarmac, or a baby turtle trying to make it out to the water before you’re eaten by a seagull, with David Attenborough narrating your every move. I hate turning left in America! Now I know what happened to Derek Zoolander. He just got stuck at a crossroads with Valley girls driving monster trucks everywhere he looked.

Anyway, we successfully navigated all the turns to arrive at a very pungent Venice Beach on 4/20. We drank celebratory Bloody Marys with the sun setting over the sea, and I got my cards read by a psychic. She told me that I should not let people know too much of my private life. So enough over-sharing now. Farewell America, the land of the free, it is time to return home, questioning why I live on an overpopulated, damp, and gray island when there’s California!

Instagirl Edie Campbell and her horse Dolly invite you to the countryside: